


Settle Our Bones Like Wood (Over Time, Over Time)

by curlspen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Darkish Jon snow, Dom/sub, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, King Jon Snow, More like book-accurate Jon Snow not the woobie show version, Multi, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23228557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curlspen/pseuds/curlspen
Summary: Sansa and Theon escape, and Jon takes them in.Title from "North" by Sleeping At LastON HIATUS!
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57





	Settle Our Bones Like Wood (Over Time, Over Time)

Sansa can feel herself slipping away, like snow melting under fresh blood. She knows she cannot give up on Theon. To give up on Theon would be to give up on herself, and though both are beginning to sound tempting – Sansa knows she cannot give up. Not here. Not in this room. If she is going to die, she doesn’t want it to be withering away under Ramsay’s lock and key, she wants it to be on her own terms. She wants to at least die as close to Jon Snow and as far from Ramsay Bolton as she can get. She at least wants Theon to die with her rather than stay and suffer. Sansa creaks open the door, eyes wide and frightened as they scan her surroundings. Her heart flutters wildly in her chest, making her empty stomach churn with nausea.

There is no one in the hallway. No guards. Nothing. Ramsay is as arrogant as he is cruel. Sansa makes her way across the hard floor, her winter boots clutched in her hand. Her footfalls are delicate and ladylike and silent as they have always been. Her ears prick for any sound of life but hears none. Ramsay has taken all his men on another of his demented hunting trips – Sansa cannot let herself think of those right now. There’s only so much horror a person can take at once, she has learned to put things away for later. Or never.

Sansa is outside sooner than she thought she’d be, she had planned to need to duck and hide from some staff or guards. It feels too easy and she feels too naked in her thin cloak, like she’s about to be caught in one of Ramsay’s traps. She shivers violently, tasting a bit of vomit in her mouth when her stomach churns once more. Sansa swallows and forces her legs too move although they feel suddenly brittle under her weight. The snow crunches beneath her feet, the cold seeping in quickly to her socks. Sansa curses herself. Stupid little girl. Hastily, she forces on the boots and ties them tight. She won’t make it far if her feet freeze.

The slight crunch of snow beneath boots is too loud to Sansa, but all she can do about it is make herself move faster towards the kennels. They are empty of snarling, vicious hounds. To anyone passing, they would seem completely empty, but Sansa is painfully aware that what is left of Theon Greyjoy is crouching in the furthest cage on the left. Sansa walks into the kennels without breaking her brisk stride, the smell of warm dog and dry blood filling her nostrils. She breathes though her mouth.

When Theon sees her, he whimpers. Sansa shushes him impatiently, already opening the lock of his cage. Theon is saying something that means nothing to Sansa’s ears. Her mind is focused only on escape, there is room for nothing else – including patience, she thinks as she strides into the cage and grabs Theon by the front of his filthy rag-shirt. 

“Theon – yes, Theon! – we’re leaving right now. I’m not taking no for an answer, you must help me. You betrayed my family; this is the only thing you can do!” Theon won’t stop begging.

Sansa cuts him off with a slap to his gaunt face. It’s not a hard slap, but she feels a deep, heavy guilt settling in her stomach regardless.

“I’m sorry, Theon, but you cannot do this right now. You need to come with me, you need to escape with me.”

Theon goes quiet for a moment, his lip quivering as his eyes rise to meet Sansa’s. He had never realized how bright her eyes were, as if the summer’s sky itself were looking down on him in kindness.

“Yes.” Theon whispers. “I’ll help you. I’m sorry I told –“

“Shh, forgot that. Just run. That’s the only thought you need in your head. Just run.”

Theon nods, his cheek rubbing against Sansa’s thumb. 

“Just run.” He replies, getting to his feet and following Sansa before he can get scared again.

They ran. Sansa faster than Theon, the snow thick and hard beneath their feet but not too deep. Their breaths come in quick, frightened gasps, the occasional whimpers slipping out as the cold and the fear gnaws at them. 

“It’s not much further. I got a letter to Jon; he’s coming to us.”

Theon slips on the snow as if the revelation made his legs lose their meager strength. Sansa’s hand catches his and does not let go when he staggers back to his feet.

“He’ll kill me!”

Would you prefer Ramsay? At least Jon would make it quick. Sansa thinks, but the words are far to cruel for her to force out. 

“I won’t let him. I’ll tell him you helped me, that you didn’t kill Bran and Rickon. He’ll show you mercy, I’m sure of it.”

She wasn’t, but there was no room for doubts. Especially not with the screams of Ramsay’s hounds now audible in the distance.

Theon’s hand clutches Sansa’s with all its might, which is more than Sansa expected him to have left, as they increase their speed. Their chests are burning, their skin is freezing, but the pain feels faraway. Running is all that matters. The dogs grow louder. Jon is nowhere in sight. Sansa wants to cry more than she’s ever wanted to cry in her life, which is saying something, but her chest is too tight, and her tears would only freeze if she tried.

“We need to go through the water. We need to lose our scent.”

“I can’t. I can’t, I’ll die.” All at once, Sansa realizes that she doesn’t want to die. She wants to see Jon again; she can almost taste the sweetness of it on the tip of her tongue.

“You have to. I’ve seen what these hounds do to a person. This way is better.” 

Taking a deep breath, and mouthing a quick, desperate prayer for Jon to come soon – Sansa steps in. 

The water feels like a thousand needles piercing her skin all at once. Her mouth gapes open in a silent scream, a scream that was ripped from her throat before it could make a sound of protest. Theon’s hand has not let go of hers, Sansa realized, she had forgotten it was there, as if it were now a piece of herself, until Theon tugs her gently onwards. Sansa uses every ounce of strength in her body to step again and again, the agonizing water creeping higher with every step. There is little room left in her mind for anything but the cold and the burn and the pain, but she fills the remaining space with thoughts of Jon Snow to keep her going.

She will see him again. Jon said he was coming. Jon is coming. Just one more step. Step again. It will be so sweet, just one more…step. Sansa must crawl out of the water, her numb fingers digging into frozen dirt that feels sharp, it would probably be painful if the rest of her weren’t on fire. The water freezes almost as soon as she leaves the water, turning her clothes hard and useless. None of the cold leaves her body.  
Sansa doesn’t notice that Theon’s hand let hers go until his hands are on her shoulders, pulling her up and away from the water of death. When he lets her go near a tree, Sansa goes limp.

“I-is Jon here y-yet?”

Theon doesn’t say anything, his teeth chattering in Sansa’s ear as he pulls her close in a stiff yet overwhelmingly tender embrace. His hands rub her back, giving her some semblance of warmth. Sansa whines softly like a woman starved, her hands reaching to embrace him back. Although her fingers can barely feel him through their numbness, it is enough for now. 

They hold each other, remaining still as ghosts. Sansa’s head resting on Theon’s shoulder and her warm, sweet breath kissing his neck. Until their dreamy reverie is broken by the sound of hooves on snow and the smell of warm horse in the air. Sansa inhales deeply, prying herself from Theon to look up, but not letting go of his hands. The smell of horse is so much sweeter than the smell of dog. Sansa would spend the rest of her life in the stables if it meant she would never see another hound again, human or otherwise.

It takes a moment for Sansa’s tired brain to process what she is seeing. She stands to get a better look, as Theon crouches down further, their hands fall apart. But Sansa’s eyes see nothing but the man riding towards her. Jon. Sansa’s heart fills with warmth, fuller than she knew was possible. Jon plops down from his steed and hits the ground running towards her. Sansa simply lifts her arms in supplication, allowing Jon to pull her off her feet and into his arms. She isn’t sure he’s not a dream until she feels him around her. Warm and real and holding her so tight her bruised ribs and freshly whipped back ache, but that doesn’t matter to her.

Jon feels impossibly warm, impossibly strong, wrapped around her like safety itself. Sansa cries into his shoulder, and he lets her without so much as a shush. She even hears him start to cry after a few moments. It has been too long since she’s been able to cry in the presence of anyone except those who feed on her anguish. Sansa’s legs wrap around Jon’s waist, no longer willing to carry her own weight. She’s been carrying it long enough.

Jon obliges, lifting her into his arms with ease and cradling her against his chest. The years have given Jon all the strength and confidence of a Knight, and they have eaten away at Sansa until she is little more than sore bones and bruised skin in Jon’s arms. But she is too tired to feel shame right now. Sansa closes her eyes, resting her forehead on Jon’s chest, the armor feeling soft as fur, and takes a few deep breaths. There is nothing in the world like feeling safe, even as she feels Jon’s chest rising and falling with his tears and runs her long fingers up and down the arm holding her to comfort him. They had never been so close as children, it should feel strange to touch him this way, but nothing has felt more right. After all, who else to they have left but each other?

Sansa doesn’t open her eyes until Jon starts to move. She realizes where he’s heading, and her bliss is pierced by panic.

“No, Jon, you can’t hurt Theon!” Sansa protests, clinging to Jon’s collar. 

He glares down at the cowering man, before he looks into Sansa’s eyes and softens. He does have very soft eyes, Sansa thinks, as soft and dark as a starless night sky. 

“He kill-“

“No, he didn’t kill Bran and Rickon. He killed two farmboys as a cover, Bran and Rickon escaped into the woods.” Jon’s eyes flood with boyish hope, and relief. “Yes, they’re alive. And I’m alive, thanks to Theon.”

Jon took a breath so deep, Sansa felt it under her palm and against her hip. She is starting to feel a little ridiculous, but Jon doesn’t seem to mind her nothing weight, and her feet really are horribly sore.

“Put him on a horse, make sure he doesn’t freeze. I’ll figure out what to do with him once I get my sister safe and warm.” Jon orders his men as he approaches his steed and places Sansa atop it. 

Jon mounts behind her, his chest pressed against her back and his arms reaching around her for the reins. Sansa cranes her neck to make sure Jon’s men are treating Theon gently enough, and surprisingly, they are. Giving him a comforting smile, Sansa lets herself turn back to the horse’s mane and relax against Jon. The horse begins to move at a steady pace, the rhythmic moments of its body lulling Sansa into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. Before she falls, she notices that the hounds had retreated into the distance. Perhaps they had lost the scent. Perhaps Ramsay decided to save the fight for another day. Sansa didn’t really care; she and Theon are safe, and Jon is here. The rest could be figured out later.


End file.
